


Welcome to Psychoville (no, the other one!)

by Goldmund



Category: Bryan Fuller - Fandom, Hannibal (TV), League of Gentlemen (TV), Mark Gatiss - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU Hannibal, AU The League of Gentlemen, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternative Universe Sherlock, Cannibalism, Comedy, Crack Crossover, Dark Comedy, M/M, alternative universe, murder involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldmund/pseuds/Goldmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come and take pot luck!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Psychoville (no, the other one!)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Dark humor, all kinds of warnings, we don't even know. Corpses and human meat are involved. It's just a funny little crack fic that's not supposed to do any harm to anyone! Please don't read if you're easily offended by trashy crossovers and/or real person fic. The story is partially inspired by No Place Like Home (or, Return to Royston Vasey) written by daarsgrrl, but by far not as brilliantly written. :) Sherlock-Hannibal (from Tumblr) and I started out sending each other funny ask box messages on Tumblr about the content of this story and soon it developed to something more. :)

Their home. A small town like no other, located in a part of northern England and eminent for its local shop. Quiet and peaceful. Well, at least to Hannibal it was. He lived a fairly decent life with his beautiful boyfriend Will, his two close friends John Watson and Sherlock Holmes as well as Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft. Hannibal has incredible passion for the culinary arts since becoming a surgeon didn’t work out. Living in this town for half a decade, Hannibal knew every inch of it and the people living in it. He had good relations with most of them and half of them he found at least interesting.  
His neighbors, the Denton family, were especially lovely: Harvey, his wife Val and their two twin daughters Chloe and Radclyffe. The two girls came over once in a while to play with Winston and Readbeard II. Harvey and Valerie were definitely affected by various types of obsessive compulsive disorders and their home looked like a sentimental reminiscence to the late 1970s which bothered the psychiatrist not in the slightest since they were completely unaware of their symptoms.  
Hannibal, Will and the others had joined Harvey and Val two or three times for a barbecue. Each time it had been lovely up to the point where Mr. Denton gave them the whole tour through his basement, which was basically an aquarium filled with all kinds of toads. Upon this, Sherlock usually ended up spending two or three days in a row in the neighbor’s basement, analyzing the venom of their skins and performing all kinds of odd experiments. Once a month the Dentons celebrated their so called ‘nude day’ which meant that they would spend one entire day completely naked – not only at their house, but also in public. William usually just laughed about their strange behavior, but Hannibal found it distinctly inspiring. He even thought about inventing Will’s and his’ very own ‘nude day’ or maybe better an entire ‘nude week’?

One time he met Val at ‘Hillary Briss and son’ the butcher’s shop on High Street. Just when he had entered the shop he heard her asking for ‘the special stuff’ and the butcher handed her something, but it was of course wrapped in plastic. Val had already packed it in her handbag (which was the only thing she had worn that day) when he came finally to standing next to her. The butcher acted very secretive about what had been going on, so Hannibal acted as if he had seen nothing out of the ordinary and decided to investigate it later.  
But the people he currently was most fascinated by were his new neighbors who had moved from London, a couple that lived down the street: writers Mark and Bryan. Especially Mark caught his eye on the very day they had moved in. He was very tall, had auburn hair and pale skin covered with beautiful freckles – he looked the way Hannibal pictured a middle aged fairly handsome Brit and indeed, when he strolled by the moving van offering his help, the ginger friendly smiled at him and replied in a British dialect that pointed to an origin from Northern East England: “’ello, thank you, but I think we’re alright, aren’t we ‘uney’?” he asked a blonde man, slightly smaller than him, just coming out of their new home. 

“Oh hey, I’m Bryan, how are ya?” US-American. Probably Washington state area. Hannibal concluded while nodding.

“Hello Bryan, nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood I guess.”

“Thank you, erm…what’s your name by the way?”

“Dr Hannibal Lecter, M.D. I live up the street, third house on the left. The old villa – painted in dark green?”

“Oh yeah, we saw it. Impressive home you have there.” 

“Yours’ not bad either. So, why did you move here?” 

“We were looking for a more rural place to live. And one day there was this advert in our mailbox. It was exactly what we were looking for. And then everything went very fast up to this point. And now we’re here.”

“We like it here. We’re artists, y’know?” Mark added.

“Mark and I need quiet surroundings to work on our creative projects.” Bryan explained further.

“Artists… Quite interesting. As it happens I’m kind of an artist myself.”

“Oh wow…great”, Bryan stated: “What kind of art?”

“The art of cooking and food decoration,” Hannibal replied, standing even straighter than before.

“Oh wow, I love food.”  
“Hm…sometimes too much,” Mark added with a wink.

“So what are your culinary achievements so far?” Bryan asked, ignoring Mark.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to spoil the surprise. You should come over to my house and try it sometime?” 

Is this your way of inviting us for dinner?” Bryan sounded full of excitement.

“All good things to those who wait,” Lecter smiled and bit them a good day.

Mark looked up at Hannibal just to catch an intense glimmer in his neighbor’s eyes, but only for a brief moment before those dark-brown orbs became as emotionless as before and Hannibal turned, walking up the street and back to his house.

\---

“I think that’s about it. All is done and ready to be served.” John was putting the final drop of Chimichurri on the plate.  
When Will, Sherlock and the dogs, finally returned home, Mycroft was already sitting at the table waiting for dinner, while John was carrying the plates one after another from the kitchen to the dining room. He was really fond of Hannibal’s good manners and wanted to help him in any way he could. Will was definitely hungry by now. He rushed into the kitchen and embraced Hannibal from behind. 

Looking over Hannibal's shoulder to see what he's putting on the plates, he groaned: “What’s that wonderful smell?”

Hannibal relaxed as he felt Will’s warm chest against his back. He tilted his head slightly, giving Will a peck on the cheek. Will looked at the delicious dish Hannibal had succeeded to create.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Hannibal replied before he cheekily fed Will the mashed potatoes with his manly fingers, which draw a slight moan from Will’s busy mouth.

Meanwhile, at the dinner table, Sherlock had joined Mycroft. Sherlock didn’t offer to help. He just observed John setting the plates on the table. John noticed Sherlock’s staring from the corner of his eye and answered his stare with a playful smile. Mycroft didn’t move, sitting there awkwardly and without anything to do.

Today, all of them, even the dogs (apart from Mycroft of course), were overexcited because they were awaiting guests. Their neighbors from down the street would join the little group for dinner. While Mark was an excellent writer of crime novels that were usually based in the Victorian age, Bryan was a moviemaker with exceptional taste in music and food. Hannibal had wondered for a couple of weeks if he should invite them to his house. It had been tempting. Three days ago he had finally decided to do so. He had sent them very formal invitations, written on handmade paper, imported from China. If they wouldn't behave or would turn out to be a disappointment he could still eat them later.

Hannibal had put on his best suit for the occasion. He forced Will into a tuxedo which made his boyfriend look divine. Sherlock on the other hand stuck to his usual self and wore what he called the “purple shirt of sex”. John was too lazy to smarten up so he wore his favorite jumper and jeans and Mycroft, as always, wore his classical three piece suit. As they were getting ready, the doorbell rang. Hannibal saw the silhouette of the tall and slightly buff Bryan and the tall and slim figure of Mark behind the milky tinned glass window of the front door.

Bryan gave Hannibal a friendly and rather confident look, while Mark just nodded his head with the burning red hair that was secretly admired by the cannibal. Hannibal could smell a hint of fear, coming from Mark.  
"Hello Hannibal, we apologize for being late, but Mark and I had a rather lengthy discussion about what to wear for the occasion at hand." Bryan excused both of them.

"I see", Hannibal just said. He looked both men up and down while taking a step aside to let Bryan and Mark enter his home.  
Mark coughed slightly: "I do hope we're not underdressed?" 

Bryan took off his jacket. He was wearing a blue suit and a pink shirt underneath. No tie. Mark wore something more casual and very British - light-brown cord pants and a blue shirt underneath a black woolen cardigan. 

Hannibal's lips curled into a barely noticeable smile: "You'll see some of us are rather casually dressed while others preferred to get a bit 'dolled up'. I dare say you both are properly dressed. I'm so delighted you could make it."

Hannibal led them to the dining room where three men were already sitting at the table, chatting with one another. When Mark, Bryan and Hannibal entered, the chatter went silent. Will and Mycroft rose from the table to greet their guests with a polite nod and a handshake while Sherlock remained seated, throwing a rather bored look at the visitors. 

Now, all seven of them sat comfortably. Hannibal as always set at the head of the table with Will on his right and Mycroft on his left. Mark and Bryan set next to each other on one side, Sherlock and John on the other. Everything was in order.  
Hannibal was the only still standing since he was about to welcome their guests and to introduce the dish. He raised his glass and the others followed suit.

„A warmly welcome to our guests and new neighbors: Mark, and Bryan, I’d like to introduce you to my family, my partner William Graham, John Watson and his mate Sherlock Holmes and last but not least to Sherlock’s brother Mycroft. Today we’ll have for our dinner: Lamb Loin Chops with Mint Chimichurri in Cognac Butter Sauce with Rice and Cauliflower Soup. Bon appétit.”

“Cheers,” everyone chorused whereupon Hannibal gestured at the food and all of them started their dinner.

As everyone was enjoying the food, Hannibal kept glancing at Mark, wondering why he was eating so little of it. Diet? Or did he notice something off?

"Is everything to your liking, Mark?" Hannibal questioned while his voice was carrying a hint of the concern of a perfect dinner host. 

Mark looked up from his plate and directly into Hannibal's dark and piercing eyes: "Erm...I'm very sorry I don't want to appear rude, it's just..." Mark couldn't bring himself to continue. Bryan caressed the back of Mark's hand lovingly and explained: "I apologize. I think we forgot to mention that my sweetheart is a vegetarian."

Hannibal huffed slightly.

Realizing the tension, Will quickly changed the subject, "So what are you guys working on now?" 

Mark quickly became excited and started to explain his idea about a private detective solving crimes with his partner, a former soldier.  
"A detective? I love detectives!" said John. Sherlock smirked while staring at his plate.  
Mark added: “He has the brains of a scientist and a philosopher and he has an equal intelligent brother.”

"A brother you say?" Mycroft spoke up for the very first time.

Meanwhile, Hannibal had gone to the kitchen to hastily prepare an improvised vegetarian dish for Mark. He felt a familiar heat of anger starting to boil within him. He could deal with anything, with people who despised carrots, with people who didn't like a glass of good red wine (like Alana for instance), he even could accept people who declined to eat veal (like his psychiatrist), but vegetarians, he hated vegetarians with all his heart. The ginger, to whom Hannibal had initially felt attracted to, quickly turned into an object of piercing annoyance. When he finished setting up a meat-free plate, ogling it with disgust, Hannibal checked if his well-tailored person suit persona was still in place, before making his way back to the dining room. As much as he despised the ginger for being a vegetarian, he still felt attracted to this man. 

He carefully placed the well prepared Spinach Parmesan and pine nut sausages in front of Mark. The British man felt touched that he had prepared another meal especially for him. 

“Thank you so much, Hannibal.” As he ate his meal, the rest were done with theirs.

Asynchronous eating! Dinner’s ruined. Hannibal clenched his fists under the table cloth.  
John got up and took along all the finished plates while Sherlock tagged along like a little puppy. 

Mycroft decided to join the two and got from his seat. He then looked to the others and said: "I'll bring out the dessert. Hannibal made delicious frozen banana and praline parfait. And I think there is cake somewhere as well." His last words made the man’s features gleam with pleasant anticipation.

Bryan subconsciously grimaced during the mention of ‘bananas’. Bananas were disgusting. He couldn’t help it. Mark sent him a compassionate look while Hannibal narrowed his eyes to small slits. He knew exactly what was going on here. Either this Bryan or his friend ‘the ginger head’ (still attracted dammit) had something else to complain about. 

“Is there any problem, my friends?” Hannibal asked with a sugar-sweet voice while Mycroft was already carrying a tray with 6 small bowls into the room, closely followed by Will and John who were carrying a bowl of self-made cream and another one with hot chocolate in it. Sherlock busied himself playing with Readbeard II and Winston, throwing a little bone for them to catch, purposely ignoring good manners.  
Bryan didn’t have the heart to tell that he was not a fan of bananas. Mark too felt guilty to tell Hannibal Bryan’s dislike as Hannibal was kind enough to have made him another meal. Mycroft placed the dessert in front of everyone. Bryan, not having the guts to refuse, just ate everything except the banana. While chatting with John he sliced the banana into even smaller pieces, placing them onto the napkin by the side of the plate and slowly moved it down under table and into his pocket. Everyone was so into their mouth watering dessert that no one noticed his cheeky plan. Luck was not on his side however. From a close distance, Winston could smell food from under the table. The dog and his wagging tail sniffed the trail and stopped at Bryan’s pocket. Winston started licking Bryan’s pocket trying to have a go at what was inside it. Bryan startled and bounced slightly off his seat. Unfortunately, bits of Banana fell out from his pocket for everyone to see. For a moment Hannibal looked furious until his mask of politeness slipped back in place.

Trying to control his rage while baring his teeth like an animal, smiling at Bryan, he reached for the bottle of Chardonnay and filled Mark's and Bryan's empty glasses another time. He’d make them drunk and see what this evening would bring.  
Their gathering would inevitably become a bit messy at one point since Hannibal was not willing to ignore their rudeness furthermore, but he would stay in control of what was going to happen - maybe - only maybe he'd allow Will and Sherlock to participate on his violent, but methodic gore feast or he would wait until everyone had gone to sleep. He could sneak out and overbear his neighbors in their sleep or he could abduct them and bring them to the empty bus yard to hold them hostage - feeding meat and bananas to them until they would beg him for mercy. Hannibal’s mood lit up at the image.

About 15 minutes had gone by and Hannibal was already pouring Mark and Bryan their third glass. Bryan was feeling a little bit tipsy by now as he couldn’t hold his liquor compared to Mark. Everything turned out as Hannibal had hoped. Will noticed with curiosity what Hannibal was doing and wondered what had caused his beau ending up in such a dark mood. John and Mycroft cleared the table and went to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock, Will and Hannibal in the dining room with the two guests. By this time, Mark was already drunk as a skunk as well as Bryan who had started to gush about his new TV production. Hannibal felt torn on whether to proceed alone or invite Sherlock and Will. Will guessed what Hannibal was about to do and Sherlock, skilled in deduction, wasn’t unaware either of Hannibal’s inner scheming. 

Hannibal didn’t want to kill off the ginger right away. He wanted to seduce him first. He wanted to touch his beautiful hair and white skin as long as his body was warm and his heart was beating. He wanted to experience what a red headed vegetarian tasted like – dead and alive. But he had to get rid of his boyfriend first. Will and Sherlock would manage without him – no doubt about that – he just had to communicate as much. Will was not a jealous man per se, especially since he knew Hannibal so well by now, that it was clear to him that Hannibal’s fascination for eating and killing people sometimes got enhanced by a certain sexual appetite. Suddenly, Will approached Bryan, dragging Sherlock behind. 

“Bryan, we talked about your fascination for old wines. Would you like to come and see Hannibal’s wine vault? He has excellent taste – there are some really exclusive higher grades of Pinot Noir from New Zealand and other rare varieties from Europe.”

Their guest’s eyes grew big with excitement. “Oh hey, yeah, sounds awesome.”

“Would you please follow us to the basement then?” Will smiled at him and held out his hand. 

“Darling?” Bryan turned around to meet Mark’s eyes. “I’ll be back in a tick, you know me it’s just too tempting, browsing through other people’s wine in dark basements.”

Mark nodded. “Yes, of course, go ahead, I’ll wait for you right here.”

Sherlock took the dogs along and was right behind Bryan and Will, leaving the dining room. 

Hannibal gave something that Mark interpreted as a hint of a smile. 

“You’re not a huge suitor of old wines I take it?” His host asked.

Mark chuckled sheepishly as if it bordered on being a crime not to go in for those sorts of things. “No, no I’m not. I apologize, but I think I’m more the beer type, no offence.”

“Non taken.” Hannibal breathed into Mark’s ear while standing very close behind the slightly larger man, who was still sitting at the table. The doctor detected a hint of shudder as a response before Mark rather abruptly got up to bring some distance between the two of them.  
The coast was clear. Will and Bryan’s voice echoed the room and soon became silent. Now it was just Hannibal and the fine ginger specimen right before him. Hannibal stared at Mark from head to toe. He knew what he wanted to do with Mark for being a rude guest but at the same time his attraction for Mark gave him some difficulties to decide about the chronology of his intentions. He took the opportunity to ask Mark to join him on the couch in the living room. Mark obliged. He sniffed Mark without drawing attention and was surprised about how lovely the man smelled - like the first drop of rain on the fields of grass, the morning dew when it hits the tip of a leaf and the smell of a blooming flower. It hurt Hannibal to do what he intended to do in a good way. He touched Mark’s soft cheek with the back of his fingers, then trailing slowly down to Mark’s neck and grabbed hold of it tightly.

”Would you mind following me? I’d like to show you something,” Hannibal whispered.

Mark gulped. He was a writer. He was smart. There were already thousands of scenarios about what was going to happen in his anxious mind. Hell, Bryan was writing a story about a man like Hannibal right now. If he’d knew it any better he’d say, Hannibal Lecter was his boyfriend’s creation who had jumped right out of his story about a psychopathic cannibal and his sociopathic murder friends. Of course, to assume that Hannibal was indeed a men-eating monster was quite a long shot, but this fellow came close to what Mark had had in mind, back in the days when he had started writing little stories of horror himself. The real man before him was still watching him intensely. Mark’s throat tightened uncomfortably. The gourmet wanted to show him something. What could that be? His kitchen? His collection of…rare whatever the bloody hell it was he was collecting apart from outrageously expensive wine? 

“It’s upstairs. Would you mind following me?” Hannibal placed one hand on Mark’s back, dangerously close to his neck again. The ginger felt trapped like an animal in a cage, but Mark didn’t dare to refuse.

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

“Come along, please.”

Both men went upstairs to the second floor of Hannibal’s generously spaced home. Walking down the hall, Mark noticed all the art of Renaissance and Victorian painters. So Hannibal was also a collector of old oil and canvas paintings. Intriguing! Mark was in love with the Victorian Age as the setting of his crime novels already indicated.

Hannibal stopped in front of a large white wooden door and turned around to face him.  
“As you can see, I’m an admirer of all kinds of artistic expressions of the human mind, as such I have a – let’s say special interest for the exceptional. He turned the doorknob and let Mark inside the small room. Mark’s jaw dropped. The walls of the white room were covered with old paintings, showing basically one and the same theme that ran through all styles and ages: middle Ages, Renaissance, Baroque art, Victorian paintings, impressionism, expressionism and a few newer photographs of the 20th century: Redheads!!!

Mark gulped: “Those are all gingers.”

“How perceptive of you, Mark,” the other man’s voice dangerously sweet while Hannibal was circling him slowly and elegantly like a predator right before its attack.

Suddenly, Hannibal chuckled: Yes, indeed, look at Van Gogh’s self-portrait of 1887 over here. He was such an impressive redhead before he cut off his ear and swirled into madness. He had light auburn hair quite like yours.” 

Hannibal dared to touch the hairline at Mark’s neck, knowing the other man would be too stunned right now to even think about any retreat. 

Mark was still processing what was happening to him. That Hannibal was gay as a handbag full of rainbows was obvious to him. He had figured out that much earlier when Bryan and he had met him and William casually at the opera while madly kissing each other on the staircase for everyone to see, but did he only invite him for dinner to…to seduce him because he accidently was a ginger haired man? What the bloody…his trail of thoughts demolished, feeling the other men’s fingers running through his hair, slightly massaging his scull in the process. Mark subconsciously leaned into the touch and a small groan passed his lips, but then he remembered in whose company he was and took a step back from his shifty host. Mark wasn’t sure, was this Hannibal’s way of saying he is fond of red heads? Mark’s imagination ran wild in that room full of art. - Is he going to paint me? Is he going to paint me, naked? Is he going to..? His train of thoughts suddenly came to a halt as he thought of the worst. Oh why did I follow him in the first place? Where is Bryan? Not realizing he had spaced out for almost a minute, Hannibal was already covering the floor with white transparent sheet. The sound of crumpling plastic texture snapped Mark out of his thoughts. 

“What is that for Hannibal?” he asked, suddenly shaking. 

“I don’t like making a mess when I’m creating a masterpiece,” Hannibal said snarky. 

Mark wasn’t going to let this go any further. He stood with confidence, although slightly hangover and said: “This may sound as ridiculous as the situation at hand, but are you planning on painting a portrait of me or are you planning to chop me in small pieces?” 

Hannibal smiled: “Why don’t you come here to find out?”

This is confusing, Mark thought. He thought about Dexter Morgan before his thoughts wandered inadvertently to the Titanic movie from 1997. Wasn’t Rose DeWitt Bukater a ginger as well? At least, Kate Winslet looked like one when Leo DiCaprio draw her naked. He closed his eyes, slightly shaking his head. 

“What if I don’t want to find out?” The bloody movies messed up his mind completely.

“Shhhh…,” Hannibal’s hot breath streamed against his skin and made him stop babbling.

“I’d like to keep you here, Mark.” Hannibal whispered against his neck.

\---

Meanwhile, Will explained all sorts and varieties of Hannibal’s wine to Bryan as if they had all the time in the world. They walked along the shelves and the man with the curly hair and those nerdy glasses pointed at some of the bottles while trying to remember what Hannibal told him about each specimen. Sherlock was rather interested in the art of manufacturing and interposed here and there to correct or add something to his friend’s remarks. Winston and Readbeard sniffed around until a large metallic door seemed to attract their attention. Their noses sniffed up and down the small slit between the lower edge of the door and the floor. 

“Wow, yeah, it’s so fascinating”, commented Bryan the profiler’s talk while looking around when he heard the dogs scratching against the door behind him.

“And what’s behind this one?” He pointed at the metallic entrance.

“Storage”, Sherlock only replied in a bored tone. 

Bryan walked up to the dogs, stroking their soft heads. “They’re completely excited. Hey buddies, what’s up? Do you smell anything delicious? Sausages? Meat? Maybe Hannibal is hiding dead corpses here.” Bryan couldn’t contain himself and giggled. He turned around to the two men and added: “Who the hell apart from butchers, murderers and cannibals keeps such a huge storage room? It’s like in the movies.”

Sherlock and Will looked at each other and started laughing awkwardly.

Will ran one hand through his curly hair: “Hehehe yeah, isn’t it funny!” 

“Wanna have a look?” Will suggested.

“It’s indeed pretty impressive”, Sherlock added.

Bryan nodded. “Why not!”

Will stepped forward and opened the heavy door while Sherlock held back the dogs, his hands clinging to their collars. 

“Just go, we’ll wait outside.”

“Okay, guys.” Bryan walked in while it was still dark. 

He couldn’t really see what was inside as it was pitch black. It was really cold. He turned to his right and found the light switch. As soon as he switched it on, the door behind him closed with a loud bang. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that startled him. He couldn’t believe his eyes, feeling his heart in his mouth as he realized that right in front of him were corpses everywhere. Not like the ones he used to watch in the movies but actual dead bodies. He felt sick and turned around, rushing towards the door, but it was already locked from the outside. He slammed his fist and palm desperately against the cold metal, pleading to be set free but no one responded on the other end. 

“Let me out! Please, let me go! What’s going to happen to me?” He cried. 

He pressed his body against the door, wanting to be as far away from the horrible view as possible. The eyes of dead people stared at him, everywhere were severed body parts lying around. Next to a metallic table, which stood in the middle of the room, were decapitated heads piled up on a trolley.  
Bryan slammed his fists again and again, but no answer followed on the other side of the door.

\---

Upstairs, Mark was facing a different problem.  
Hannibal was standing so close to him he could hear his heartbeat. “You are almost perfect. Almost.”

”What do you mean by almost? Please don’t do this.” Mark tried to distance himself from Hannibal.

”If only you weren’t a vegetarian, I would have let you live. Continue living your happy life with Bryan who unfortunately won’t be seeing the daylight any longer as well,” Hannibal’s threatening tone made Mark cry out in sheer horror.

”Try to keep calm and it will be over before you know it,” Hannibal whispered while playing with a set of knives in both his hands. 

Mark closed his eyes and was about to give in to his destiny when suddenly Mycroft appeared out of nowhere.

“Hannibal! What are you doing? Step away from him.”

Hannibal was boiling with anger at that point and without thinking twice he threw one of the knives he was holding and it went flying straight towards Mycroft. Suddenly, it was silent.

Mark stepped in the direction of the man who had just gone to the ground, kneeling beside him. Mycroft’s face was white as a sheet. Hannibal’s knife stuck in his chest and presumably had pierced through his heart. 

The man in the grey-striped suit was about to close his eyes when Mark cried: “Mycroft, Mycroft, don’t die. Oh God, no!” 

“Did I already tell you that I think your features do closely resemble mine?” Mark added out of nowhere.

The dying man smiled while blood was tripping out of his mouth. “So, maybe I’m only a fictional character then, trapped in…” he couldn’t speak further, but coughed.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’m going to die now.” Mycroft still sounded very composed.

Mark pressed one hand firmly against Mycroft’s wound, but the floor beneath the dying man, covered in plastic sheet, was already immersed in crimson fluid. 

“Your ridiculous apology indeed sounds like something only a bad written fictional character would say, but unfortunately this is real, and your blood seems real to me, too.”

“Enough.” Hannibal suddenly shouted behind him, grabbing his wrist and pulling the writer to his feet.

The angry man shoved Mark to the entrance of the collector’s room and hissed: “This British imbecile ruined my plans. Everything was perfect. I waited so long for an opportunity to stage Dexter’s excellent killing scene of season four, episode five and now it was all a waste of time. Come along, we have to dress you up.” 

Mark took a last look at his doppelganger that had, in the meantime, stopped breathing. “You just murdered your friend!” He shouted at his host.

Hannibal gave him a small smile: “Well, it wasn’t exactly murder. It was more like an inconvenient accident. I intended to kill you, ‘member?”

Mark was breathing heavily now. Everything began to spin. 

“Come along now, you have to change into a suit!” His captor ordered.

“What?” Mark cried. “Why the hell would I do that?” 

Hannibal groaned. “Aaarrgh, because you have to pretend to be Mycroft, you idiot! Sherlock will be so mad at me otherwise. And we can’t have that, can’t we? So, you have to help me.”

Mark laughed humorlessly. “Help you? Are you mental? Tsss…why am I even asking, you are completely and totally nuts.”

“Careful now, I’m not crazy, I’m a psychopath, that’s a fundamental difference.”

“Still bloody crazy.” The redhead muttered.

Mark stumbled into the bathroom and Hannibal closed the door behind them.

They needed over an hour to dye Mark’s hair the way Mycroft wore it. By the end of it, Hannibal sighed and a single tear drop made its way down his cheek.

“Why are you crying?” Mark asked in consternation.

“Because, your auburn hair is gone.” Hannibal whined.

\---

Will and Sherlock left Bryan abandoned in the storage. They could hear his banging echoing in the background. They hassled their way back to the dining room. Will was somewhat eager to see what had become of Mark, because he knew Hannibal had something up his sleeves. Sherlock on the other hand was in no mood for more games so he decided to join John in the kitchen. 

As Will reached the dining room, Hannibal was nowhere in sight. “Strange“, he murmured to himself. He searched the living room and no one was around. He then stood for a moment and realized the only place in the house they could be right now was in the “special room”.  
“V-i-c-t-i-m”. Whispered Will under his breath. 

Mark accurately resembled Mycroft: same hair color, the suit, the height. The only difference was their posture and personality. 

“Give me a sassy and stern look” Hannibal ordered. 

“What? You’re joking right?” Mark furrowed his brows while clenching his fists. 

“I never joke – unless when I’m with Will and he amuses me”, Hannibal replied seriously. 

Mark tried his best to pull the so called sassy-stern look which wasn’t easy at all. 

Hannibal rolled his eyes: “That will do.”

Hannibal opened the bathroom door and stopped in his tracks, seeing Will hovering in front of it. 

“Hannibal? Mycroft? What are you doing?”

“We had a little accident in the ‘collector’s room’, honey. Mycroft helped me cleaning up the mess.”

Mark looked back and forth between the two of them. Why was Hannibal lying to his boyfriend? Did it matter since he was a mass-murderer? Who cares if he was a lying mass-murderer boyfriend to his ‘honey’? However, Mark was not only a writer, but also a decent actor. It was clear to him that he had to manage to act like Mycroft if he wanted to survive.

“I had to change suits…as you might already know there’s much blood involved…in such a delicate affair.”

“Yeah, I know. I have plenty of experience by now when it comes to those things. Am I right, Hanni?” Will gave Hannibal a radiant smile.

“What happened to the other one?” Hannibal suddenly asked.

“We gave him the whole tour, which included your storage and right now he’s enjoying the Arctic cold while wearing only a Prada suit,” Will chuckled.

Mark had to bite his tongue at that to avoid the protest that otherwise would have passed his compressed lips. His poor baby was freezing to death somewhere in the basement.

“Are we still gonna stick to our ‘game party’ plans tonight?” William looked at Mycroft and added: “I know you’re not a huge fan of games, but you’ll do it for Sherlock, won’t you?”

Mark simply nodded. 

Hannibal clapped his hands once. “Fine then, let’s join the others for the games.”

\---

John and Sherlock were sitting in huge wing chairs in front of the fireplace when Hannibal, Will and Mark disguised as Mycroft entered.  
“There you are,” Sherlock sighed. “I was beginning to feel quite bored.”

“Thanks a lot”, John was obviously taking this personally while sipping at a glass of cherry brandy. 

“So, what are we gonna play?” Will asked rather excited.

Sherlock pointed at his forehead where a piece of paper was pinned to and it answered: “Isn’t it obvious, Will?”

“Oh, not that silly game again!” Hannibal groaned.

“It’s game time!” Sherlock cried cheerfully, crossing his legs and changing his posture to that of a thinker’s pose. 

Will had already sat down and scribbled something on a post-it note. 

Hannibal looked at Mark: “Why don’t you sit down as well, Mycroft?” 

Mark obeyed and took a seat next to Sherlock, who also wrote something on a paper and pinned it to his brother’s forehead.  
“There you go, Mikey.” Sherlock chuckled like a maniac. 

After John had pinned another post-it to Hannibal’s forehead, Sherlock screamed again: “Game time! Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll start” John exclaimed calmly. The name of the person written on John’s forehead was Julie Andrews. He turned to Sherlock. “Am I a woman?” 

“Yupp” Sherlock said. 

“I knew it! Again Sherlock? Why am I always a lady?” John leaned back in his chair, sulking. 

“Because you are...my lady” Sherlock said mischievously while touching the tip of John’s nose. 

John smiled blushingly, “Am I fat?” 

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “ No! John! Next person please” 

Will wanted to play this round with Hannibal, but since his boyfriend seemed not in the mood, he decided to play it with Mycroft. For some odd reason, Sherlock wrote ‘Mark’ on top of Mark’s head. Sherlock had obviously noticed how similar Mark and Mycroft looked as well, so he playfully wrote it to prank his brother. 

“I’ll go next” said Will. 

But suddenly Mark interrupted and said “May I go first?” 

“Of course, go ahead” said Will giving Mark the approval. 

“Am I tall?” he started. 

“Fairly tall yes” Will answered. 

“Am I clever?” he continued. 

“Most people would think so.” Will stated.

“Not most people” Sherlock intervened with a huff. 

“Am I a fictional character…?” Mark continued. 

Everyone looked confused by the question except for Will and Hannibal. 

Hannibal then stood up and said: ”I think this game is a waste of time. Why are we even playing this game? We played this yesterday.”  
“Excuse me, I need to go and resolve someone… I mean something,” he said as he marched away from the group. 

“Well someone is moody,” Sherlock mumbled as this was his favorite game.

Mark knew where Hannibal was heading so he quickly excused himself and tailed Hannibal.  
Will broke the silence and asked Sherlock to play with him. Sherlock was overjoyed. John however was curious why Hannibal was behaving that way. He thought he would investigate but after this round. Mark tried to be as quiet as possible when following Hannibal up the stairs and to the basement. Mark was able to hide behind a huge shelf just before Hannibal stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and went back to the cellar door to shut it. Then he slowly walked along the rows of wine racks until he reached the door. He didn’t open it, he just waited. He tried to make no sound. His plan was to attack and overpower the other man as soon as he had opened the storage door. He knew this plan was ambitious. Hannibal was much sturdier than him.

Hannibal still didn’t move. Mark bit his bottom lip, his hand encompassing the wooden foot of the shelf before him in order to keep them from shaking. 

“I can smell you, ginger man. I know you’re here. Don’t hide. Come out. Resistance is futile.” Hannibal suddenly mocked. 

Mark leaned his head against the wood, closing his eyes. This is not happening. How in the world did he know? He slowly rose to his feet and stepped hesitantly into Hannibal’s view. 

“Just let us go, please. We won’t say a word to anybody. You don’t have to do this.” Mark begged.

Hannibal cocked his head, a small smile hushing over his face before he whispered: “I know I don’t have to, but I simply want to. But, not now. I’m very restrained for time at the moment. First, I have to clean up the mess upstairs, then I’ll have to prepare dinner for tomorrow and after that, when the house is silent and my friends have gone to sleep, I’ll take good care of you two.”

\---

Hours must have passed already, when the door to the storage finally reopened and Bryan rushed to it.  
Bryan cried. What would they do to him now? Where was Mark. O.M.G. What if…  
But it was neither Sherlock nor Will who entered, but Mycroft who got shoved inside rather roughly. Before Bryan reached the door, it was shut from the outside again. Bryan stamped on the ground: Dammit, fucking dammit. What is this shit, Mycroft? Lemme out of here!” Bryan kicked the door, crying out with pain.

“Bryan, it’s me, Mark.” The man told him.

Bryan looked him in the eye and knew what he said was true.

“Why the heck are you wearing Mycroft’s clothes? What happened to your hair? What the ding dong heck is wrong with this place?”  
Mark didn’t answer, but embraced Bryan, leaning his head against his boyfriend’s cold chest. 

“I thought you were dead. I thought they had killed you, too.”

Bryan caressed Mark’s back and whispered into his shoulder: “Why ‘too’? Who’s dead, Mark?” Right in that moment he was reminded of all the dead disembodied parts that surrounded them.

“Mark? Mark!”

“What?”

“Please, look at me right fucking now!”

Mark did as he was told, his eyes wide and worried.

Bryan tried to speak calmly: “Mark, you have to focus on me, don’t look around. Try not to panic, ‘kay?”

“Why? What is it? Please, don’t scare me like that!” Mark whimpered.

“Listen to me. This storage room is not for sausage or animal meat. There are no vegetables either. This is a…a morgue.” Bryan held him by his arms.

Mark couldn’t keep his gaze steady. His eyes adverted and he looked at the metallic table in front of them. On top of it lay a human leg.  
Mark cried out, stumbled two or three steps back into the direction of the sealed entrance and stuttered: “This is not happening. This is…this is your script. This is the TV-show script you let me read two months ago. What? Are we awake? Is this even real?”

“I know, I know. It is surreal. Impossible.” Bryan approached Mark again and took his hand in his’. 

“We have to find a way out of here. We have to try to escape.”

“But…but Bryan, how?”

Bryan kept silent. Mark began to feel the cold, noticing how pale, yes, almost blue Bryan’s skin looked already. 

“I wish we had the TARDIS.” He sighed.

“I knew you would say that at some point.” 

“Be me up, Scotty?” Bryan added and smirked.

Mark huffed: “I don’t like the thought of being dismantled particle by particle. Gives me a sick feeling somehow.” 

“Yeah, a time machine is it then. Would be somewhat convenient right now. But didn’t you tell me about its unpredictability, too? I don’t want to end up in the Stone Age or…I dunno, in medieval Europe.”

Mark slowly sat down next to the door. “Well, you know quite frankly I’d rather be stuck in 14th Century Paris during the Great Plague than hanging out in a cold room filled with rotting corpses murdered by a bunch of bloody psychopaths.”

“Rotting? I had a look when I was alone I think they’re still in pretty good shape.”

“Disgusting!” Mark grimaced where upon Bryan started laughing while sitting down,too next to the other man.

After a short moment of silence Mark finally told Bryan everything that happened up there with Hannibal while Bryan had his memorable wine cellar tour with the boys.

“Oh fuck, that means Hannibal’s the killer. What about Sherlock and Will, do you think they know?”

Mark shrugged. “I wish I knew. But y’know I just remembered my old comedy series and the characters Auntie Val and Uncle Harvey who kind of imprisoned their nephew Benjamin to keep him at their house forever as some kind of pet. Back then, I thought that Stephen King reference to his ‘Misery’ book was kind of brilliant…didn’t know all of my imagination would back-fire at us in such a horrible way.” 

\---

Hannibal was still on the other side of the door. Although he couldn’t exactly hear what they were saying, he could imagine them trying to figure out a way to escape from that room. The thought alone actually made Hannibal grin from ear to ear. He was a sly man indeed. He knew no matter how hard they’d try, the only way out was through the door he was leaning on. He left eventually went back upstairs to join the others while thinking about all the ways he would make use of his neighbor’s delicate meat – especially the redhead’s.  
As Hannibal entered the living room, nothing had changed. It was the same as he left it a couple of moments ago. But he still wasn’t able to shed the grin off his face. He’d finally accomplished to catch a ginger. He’d cook the man’s meat in various ways. The redhead was tall and in good shape – he could prepare a feast.  
Sherlock and Will ignored Hannibal, but John was intrigued by the man’s new found optimism. Usually, if Hannibal was smiling, something rather evil was about to happen. Being a soldier half his life, he sensed something was wrong. And where did Mycroft go? He also wondered about what had happened to Bryan and Mark? They hadn’t left the premises. Well not that he was aware of. And he could have sworn seeing Mycroft following Hannibal down to the basement. All in all very suspicious!

\---

Meanwhile, downstairs, it had been nearly two hours that Bryan was locked in the cold storage room. He was shivering; his lips had already turned a slight blue. He wished he had worn something thicker. Mark gave him a tight squeeze and repeatedly rubbed Bryan’s back, but it was not helping. Mark tried talking to Bryan to keep him awake, because he had read somewhere in a book that it was not uncommon to actually freeze to death after a couple of hours in their situation. 

“Do you think all of them are psychos?” Mark started a conversation to distract Bryan from his physical struggle while he was still hugging Bryan tightly in his arms.

“It’s fucking Psychoville…hey, I dunno about all of them, but that soldier fellow is definitely not a bad guy.” Bryan chattered his teeth.

He looked around. There were corpses everywhere – nothing but fucking corpses. He looked up to the opposite wall. High up there was a very small window. It might fit them. It might. But there was no way to reach it. Bryan got up and made his way over to the table.  
Dammit, of course it was welded to the ground. There was no way to move it to the spot right under the window. And even if it could be moved it would still be too high up for them. They needed a ladder or anything else to make a pile that would be high enough to climb up to the small opening. Bryan regarded the corpses again. There must be thirty or more of them. If they’d…

“What are you thinking about, Bryan?” Mark asked.

“A way to escape this dreadful place.” Bryan went over to the lined up dead bodies and body parts, having a closer look. The bodies were stiff from the cold so they’d be as hard as wood or stone – certainly solid enough to carry the weights of two grown men. There was hope. Excitement refreshed his mind and didn’t let him feel so cold anymore.

“C’mon baby, help me. We need to stack up as many corpses and body parts as possible. Do you see the little window up there? That’s our escape!”

“What?” Mark looked up at the small dirty window before he warily ogled the dead bodies. He gagged at the thought of even touching dead flesh and bones, but nodded eventually. 

Bryan already busied himself going through the ‘material’ while mumbling: “Let’s see what we have here. There are lots of intact bodies and trunks that are good to build a stable pile and then there are arms, legs which we could use as pieces to fill in the gaps and, and erm…heads, though I don’t think we’ll need those.”

“Oh God, Bryan, I think I’m gonna get sick.” Mark slowly stood up, bending forward and supporting himself against the nearest wall. He threw up most of Hannibal’s dinner, gasping while tasting the disgusting bitterness of vomit in his mouth.

Bryan stopped with what he was doing and went over to Mark, rubbing in slow circles over the trembling man’s back.  
“Please, Mark, I need you to support me here. It’s not as disgusting as you might think. There’s no liquid blood or other body fluids. It doesn’t stink either, since it’s more or less freeze-dried – dry as dust. Very much like ice on a stick.”

Mark threw up again, but this time only acid came forth.

“Oh baby, just try to think of it as a fake. Just imagine being on a film set. You worked with dummies before. You know the drill. I mean you love horror stuff, Mark. We both do. Think about it as if it’s not real.”

It took a little while before Mark was able to speak again: “Ahhh…okay…okay, you’re right, I think I’m better now. Let’s do this.”  
Both men went over to the dead bodies and started to sort through them.

“I think we should place three or four corpses next to each other as a kind of a steady foundation and then we’ll pile three and then two corpses one above the other, closing the gaps with arms and legs and well…let’s see how this is gonna work out, ‘kay?”

Mark didn’t answer, but started to divide legs, arms and trunks like an automaton, putting them on piles next to each other while Bryan dragged entire bodies to the spot right under the window.

They were trying their best to load the bodies into a pyramid-like shape. The room was silent as they were piling and sorting the bodies. Bryan was concerned with Mark’s silence but in actual fact Mark was starting to enjoy dividing those legs and arms. Being a writer of the gore genre, this was definitely something he wanted to experience once in his life time. They had about four bodies which had the adequate size and weight for a strong foundation - slowly working their way up. 

They are fake. This is not real. It’s just a game. We’re in a film studio. They are fake. This is not real, was working in Mark like a mantra until he started to believe it. He stared at the pieces, close ups of frozen dolls. If one looks at it this way, it didn’t seem too frightening anymore. Three, bodies…two bodies...then all of a sudden, Mark broke the silence by throwing Bryan an arm of one of the dead corpses.  
Bryan froze and turned to Mark who started laughing.

“Fuck, have you gone insane?” Bryan asked.

“I don’t know…”Mark was still laughing and gasping for air, “Hahahah no, it’s just…I feel like a freak myself. This is bloody ridiculous.”

“Catch!” He threw a women’s head at Bryan which missed him only by a hair’s breadth. 

Bryan jumped aside, bent down, grabbed an arm and threw it back at Mark.

“Do you wanna play games, Mark, do you? I can do that.” 

Mark was hiding behind a pile of corpses now to take shelter. The next body part that came flown straight into his direction was a severed male hand, dashing into the heap before him. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Mark answered with throwing another of the heads since those seemed to fly best.

Bryan saw the head coming and was in ready position to kick it. As the head flung across the room, Bryan used his strong leg and kicked it. However, he grazed it slightly and the head changed his direction, heading straight towards the door. 

\---

John was desperately uncomfortable. He felt the need to check on what Hannibal did down at the basement. He tried not to think of the worst but he wasn’t sure anymore. Hannibal was now playing with Will and Sherlock so he knew this was a great opportunity to leave them and sneak downstairs. John excused himself, getting up from the sofa in order to go to the bathroom. The three of them were so hooked on to the game that none of them heard John. So he hurried down the stairs to the wine cellar. No sight of Bryan, Mark or Mycroft. He walked further in and saw the metallic door. His heart skipped a beat. Something was definitely off, though no expert in the science of deduction, his soldier instinct told him so. He approached the door and with all his might pushed the heavy door open.  
When John was about to enter the decapitated head aimed exactly against his forehead, knocking him down hard.  
Bryan and Mark stiffened. No movement or sound was heard from John.  
Mark went over to their victim and stared down at the man.

“Oh fuck, it’s John of all things. I think he’s unconscious.”

Bryan stepped next to him, looking down as well. John’s forehead was red and a bump was already starting to show. 

“He looks kind of dead to me, Mark.”

“Kind of?” Mark chuckled.

“I think I killed him,” Bryan whispered horrified, “should I check on him?” 

Mark suddenly became aware of their opportunity, grabbing Bryan’s hand he raced towards the door. 

“I think this is our chance. We have no time for that.” 

“I’m so sorry, buddy!” Bryan whispered towards the knocked out man as they skipped over his body on the floor. 

Both men ran as if the devil was after them. They climbed up the stairs and Mark, careful not to make any sound, opened the basement door, which led to the lobby. He opened it only a bit to have a look through the small slit. It seemed quiet. He could hear voices from afar, but no one was in sight. Mark turned to Bryan, who was pressing against his back from behind. 

“I think we should risk it. It’s only a few steps to the front door.”

The two men tiptoed to the door very, very carefully so as not to make any sound. Mark flinched when one of the old wooden floor boards made a cracking sound under his foot. Both men froze for a moment to listen if someone had heard them. Nothing. There was still a far away and seemingly undisturbed stream of chatting coming from the other side of the house.

Once, they had left Hannibal’s house, Mark and Bryan started running and running and running and running until they had reached the local shop up the hill. Both then stopped in front of the red telephone box on the side of the road, trying to catch their breaths again. 

“Oh God, I’m so bad in exercising. Oh fuck, I think my heart’s gonna stop every moment.” Bryan whined.

Mark was panting hard as well, but already started to circle the red box.

“What about the TARDIS idea, Bryan? What if it really works?”

“What do you mean? Do you think you can just imagine the fucking box is the TARDIS and it will take us back to London?”

“Why not? You yourself said that this is a fantasy. Fiction! We created it. If we’re the ones who generated this place, we can also alter things to our liking. If, for example, we’d suddenly decide to make Hannibal a vegetarian it would happen. How, who knows, but it would.”

“This is crazy, Mark!” Bryan sat down next to the call box, staring at the little house in front of them. 

“I’ll kind of miss this place.” He suddenly mumbled. 

Mark stopped in his tracks. “Are you serious?”

Bryan looked up at him: “Y’know, we were actually looking for such a place for a very long time. We craved to be in a small town like this. We wanted to be here. I loved the high street and the neighborhood and the moor landscape right the first time I laid my eyes on it.”

“But this has become an exaggeration, an eccentric parody of the Northern British provincial life. It’s not supposed to be pleasant, Bryan. I grew up in such a place.”

“Well, did you hate it?”

“Yes.” Mark replied without hesitation.

“So, why did you want to move here with me in the first place when you hated your hometown so much?”

“This is not exactly Sedgefield. We agreed to ease up a bit, turn our back on the big city…I loved the idea. I still do.”

“It’s more exciting than you initially thought, isn’t it?” Bryan chuckled. 

“Hell yes, I’ve never killed anyone by accident before or played ball with a decapitated head.”

“Yeah, precisely! Just imagine all the things we could do while staying here. It’s not real anyway, so we didn’t exactly kill John because he never really was alive. He’s a fictional character.”

Mark nodded, but then said: “But they obviously have their own agendas that lie beyond our influence.”

“Did we even try to ‘create’ anything yet?” Bryan raised one eyebrow at him.

“No. No, we didn’t.”

“Well, let’s try then.”

Mark thought of something he could think into existence, advisedly nothing dangerous. 

One moment later Bryan cried out: “You wished for a tandem bicycle?”

Mark shrugged: “Why not, at least, now we won’t have to walk back to our house.”

“Does that mean we’re gonna stay?” Bryan’s voice was full of excitement now.

“We can still leave if it doesn’t work out. But we really should think of some character modifications for Hannibal. I like him, but his murderous instincts shouldn’t include us.”

“Agreed, and we should revive John, just in case I did kill him, ‘kay?”

“Did I tell you that Hannibal has a kink for gingers? I think it’s necessary to work on his character from scratch. Why did you create such spawn of evil anyway?”

“Because, it’s fun, Mark.” Bryan giggled.

Both men got on the tandem bike to make their way back down the hill just when the door to the local shop opened from the inside and an elderly man appeared. He was wearing a grey suit, horn-rimmed spectacles – the glasses poorly cleaned. His teeth were incredibly pointed and really dirty. 

“Hello, hello? What's going on? What's all this shouting? We'll have no trouble here!” The men held his head high like a crane.

Mark and Bryan first stared at him, but eventually greeted politely: “Hello.”

Bryan added: “No trouble, we’re just on our way home.”

The man approached, looking them up and down in a highly skeptical manner.

“Are you local?”

Mark and Bryan looked at each other and started laughing. Both answered unison: “Yes, we are!”

The End.


End file.
